Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Too many beets.

I’m not actually sure you can eat too many beets, but that’s beside the point.

While I was out frolicking on Lake Ontario on Sunday, Travelling Companion was busy making up a batch of pickled beets. There are two ways that I like beets, and that’s straight from the pot where they’ve been boiled, or pickled.

That’s it.

I think I mentioned a dish that has been put in front of me with some sort of cheese and other concoctions, mixed in with beets, and to me that’s a waste of perfectly good beets. The last time this dish was set out on the table, I requested a side dish of unspoilt beets for me. Well, and for my son-in-law, since he didn’t seem overly keen on trying the concoction.

Texture issues, pure and simple.

Under the category of “How was your Monday?”, I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday morning.

Back not long after we got home here to the land of maple syrup and losing baseball teams (dead f*cking last, I tell you!) the subject of doctor’s appointments came up, at which time the words, “You should go for a physical” were repeated well, more than once.

Say those words aloud and slowly, like in a movie when something happens in “slo-mo”.

Anyway, it was originally scheduled for July or something, and then the Doc was going to be on vacation (hey, that’s OK, give the guy some time off!) and then it got rescheduled for something like November 7th, but there was a cancellation, and I got the call!

Yay me!

When the number came up on the screen I thought it was for T.C., so she took the call, booked me in for 8:30 a.m. and told me later. What? I’m going to the doctor?? On Monday morning? Oh goodie.

Couldn’t help but notice the tree across the road when I was cutting the grass earlier today. Wow.

So where was I? Right. Getting poked and prodded.

I *know* it’s for my own good. My family has a “history” of a couple issues. Hence I’ll be getting the camera up the poop chute in the spring (earliest appointment) and since me dear ole Mom died of an aneurism, I’ll be getting signed up for an MRI to scan my pea brain.

We’ll see if there’s anything in there. Don’t hold your breath.

No microscope quips!

So the Doc and I got talking about Shingles. And we weren’t talking about the roof of this house either. Have you heard of this little darlin’ of an affliction? I’ll just put in a link here, and you’re welcome to have the crap scared outta ya.

Since I’ve had chickenpox, I decided right then and there to get vaccinated for Shingles. Also got a tetanus shot, since I haven’t had one of those since about 1992. I remember that, because I stepped on a nail, but let’s not digress. Well, not any worse than usual.

Right along with giving up some blood, squeezing out a few ounces of pee (and I *just* went!), we “men folk” have this one little thing that gets done right along with all the rest. Oh ya boys, you know what I’m talking about.

You have to understand, I went for the PSA test back in the spring, and passed that one. Came right after I passed my mini driving test, so I was on a roll.

However, given that there is some controversy about the reliability of this particular antigen in the bloodstream, the Doc really and truly should get up in there and palpate the prostate. OOooff.

Oh boy.

Seems to me he said something like, “Well, I guess you won’t be switching over to the other team. You didn’t seem to like that much.”

Um. No.

My preference is that *things* should only come outta there, and not go in.

Which brings us back to the beets. Didn’t think it would happen, did ya?

See, the interesting thing about eating just about any amount of beets (and MAN did I eat boatloads Sunday evening!) is that the colour of the beets doesn’t seem to get absorbed by the body. By that, I mean your bowels, in case I’m being painfully less than obvious.

Naturally then, when I *made a visit* not long after coming home from the Doctor’s office, I was a little taken aback to see what I thought was blood there floating around with the other “floaters”.

Ruh-roh!

If a finger in a dyke analogy comes to mind, I’ll understand.

See now, that’ll give a feller a thrill. And to be honest, I prefer some of the thrills I had in my youth.

“Blood in the stool”, is one of those things you read about, but you’d better hope to never see.

Well, I've been getting too many spam comments showing up. Just a drag, so we'll go another route and hope that helps. So, we won't be hearing anything more from Mr. Nony Moose. I guess I'll just have to do without that Gucci purse.